


Dark & Twisted, But Still My Fantasy

by shootingstarcipher



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Dark, Dubious Consent, M/M, Masterbation, Mystery, Romance, Smut, high school!au, human!bill cipher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shootingstarcipher/pseuds/shootingstarcipher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels as if there’s no air left in his lungs and there’s a reason for that.<br/>He remembers Mabel, and then… blond hair, golden eyes and darkness. He knows who he is, and that he’s back home and that he started high school not long ago. He was nervous then but he’s a complete wreck now.<br/>But who’ll remember him? He’s just another fatality in a sea of casualties, just another murder victim. Except, of course, he’s not dead at all.<br/>He has his worst enemy to thank for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark & Twisted, But Still My Fantasy

Deep breaths, he tells himself, his gaze fixed on the ground. He inhales for six seconds, holds it for six more, and the exhales. He raises his head momentarily and turns to his left, expecting to find Mabel right there beside him. But she’s gone already, leaving a faint, ever-fading ghost of herself in her wake. He can still see her but she’s further away than she’s supposed to be, talking to a couple of other girls across the courtyard. It isn’t fair. He grits his teeth and lowers his head again. He’s forgotten about controlling his breathing and it’s shaky again, threatening to expose his anxiety to the hundreds of other students scurrying through the gates in waves of tens. It isn’t fair that high school is the one place she’s popular and he’s not.

Forget about her, his brain instructs and he does as he’s told, ignoring the pang of jealousy inside his chest and shuffling towards the nearest entrance to the building he’s closest to. Their parents dropped them off outside the gates ten minutes ago and they’re still fifteen minutes early. Pushing open the large white door breaking up the pattern engraved into the stony exterior of the building, he staggers inside and practically flings himself into the room the sets eyes on first - but not before checking to make sure it’s empty.

It’s a Maths classroom, he notes, soaking up the sight of the various posters scattered around the walls. He knows he shouldn’t be there but for the time being it provides him with a much needed opportunity to calm down and so he sits in one of the chairs at the front of the room and places his backpack on the desk in front of him, shrugging it off his shoulders. A brief moment of disappointment engulfs him as he automatically reaches into his bag, feeling for the journals he carried around with him all summer, only to realise they no longer exist, having been reduced to a pathetic pile of ashes by the very being who has made his life hell for the last few months. Still, it’s over now. The horror that used to Bill Cipher was erased from existence over a week ago (and his body turned to stone) but he still re-lives it all at night when he closes his eyes.

But that doesn’t matter now. His life is normal again now. No more monsters, no more demons, no more fear - until, of course, the next time he goes to sleep and it happens to him all over again. A part of him wishes he could go back to Gravity Falls and keep on searching for anomalies with his great uncle Ford, but this is for the best. His only problem now is fitting in and Mabel’s only problem is the fact that she can’t take her pet pig to school with her.

Reaching into his backpack again, he pulls out the flimsy piece of paper on which his timetable is printed. His first lesson begins in ten minutes. Algebra. He smiles, knowing it’s something he’s relatively good at (anything that involves logical thinking and he’s in his element; it’s creative subjects like Art and English he struggles with), pushes back his seat and starts towards the door with his backpack hanging from his shoulders and his timetable in his hands. Then he stops and presses his ear to the door, listening to the sounds of a gaggle of other students bustling down the corridor. Once he’s sure they’re gone, he hurries out and darts around the corner, unintentionally coming face-to-face with the door of the classroom he’s meant to be in.

For a few moments, he stands awkwardly outside the door, shifting his weight from foot to foot and his hands are sweating out of nervousness because he doesn’t know whether to wait outside the classroom or go straight in even though there’s no teacher there. After a brief hesitation, he decides to head inside and choose his seat before anyone else does. He sits in the middle of the room - sitting at the front would only make him look like a swot, sitting at the back would make him seem suspicious in the eyes of the teacher, and sitting by the window would only make him seem like a loner. He groans at the realisation that each desk is shared between two students and chooses the seat on the left, his heart filling with dread as reality sets in: he’s going to have to sit too close to a stranger for comfort and it’s probably going to cause another panic attack. Great.

Five minutes later, the teacher arrives. She’s a tall, slim woman with straight black hair tied into a ponytail at the back of her head and a bright smile. It seems as if her very presence inside the classroom sparks are sort of stampede and suddenly the room is filling up with students, most of whom sit at the back of the classroom while a few sit at the front. The first person to sit choose to sit in one of the middle rows of desks like he did smirks at him when he enters the room and strides straight over to him, sitting down in the seat beside him, sharing his desk.

Dipper’s heart is palpitating again, beating so hard he can practically feel every drop of blood being squeezed out of it. The boy beside him is sitting so close to him he can feel his right thigh pressing against the boy’s left. His shirt is crumpled as if it’s never been ironed and hangs loosely from his slender frame. His coat is long, reaching just below his knees, and he doesn’t take it off when he sits down like everyone else does, as if it’s somehow glued to his body. A slightly crooked black bow tie is attached to the collar of his shirt. Wavy blonde hair covers one eye completely; the other is like a large droplet of melted gold. Wrapped around his wrist is a thin bracelet adorned with an all-too familiar golden triangle.

The next few seconds, during which his attention is stolen away by a series of short flashbacks from the previous couple of months, feel like an eternity to Dipper. In his mind’s eye, he relives his first encounter with Bill Cipher and his hands automatically coil into fists. Then he watches Ford being turned to metal before his eyes again, and the rest of the town’s inhabitants being paralysed and organised into some sick throne of human suffering.

He turns back to the boy beside him and glowers at him. The boy’s identity is painfully obvious and, as if the demon hasn’t already tortured him enough, it makes him mad to know that he isn’t even trying to hide his true self.

His teacher (who is currently introducing herself to the class as Miss Drake) snaps him out of it. Sending one last suspicious glance in the blond boy’s direction, he turns his head to the front of the classroom and tries hard to listen to what she’s saying, but his mind is still focusing on the possibility that Bill Cipher is sitting right next to him in human form. Maybe it’s all in his head. The boy sitting beside him now can’t possibly be who he thinks he is because Bill Cipher is dead. He’s gone. And as far as he’s concerned, he’s never coming back. The bracelet has nothing to do with him. That has to be it.

Except that as soon as Miss Drake stops talking and instructs them all to take out their textbooks, his classmate leans down to whisper in his ear and the combination of his hot breath enveloping the shell of his ear and his use of his unfortunately memorable nickname sends shivers running down his spine. “Good to see you again, Pine Tree.” Jerking his head away from him, Dipper scoots his chair further away from him and stares down at his textbook, but then he snaps his head up again when he notices his teacher’s looking his way.

“I haven’t got my textbook,” Bill mutters casually, leaning back in his seat. “But we’ll share, won’t we?” He glances up at the teacher and, after a moment, sits forward in his seat, bending over the desk and pretends to study the book Dipper is now focusing on. Everything’s fine, Dipper tells himself, his gaze fixated on the book but he can’t get passed the title. He’s read it six times already and he still isn’t taking it in.

Clearing her throat, Miss Drake says that he needs to bring his own book next time but for now they can share, and - turning back to the rest of the class - reads the title of the page aloud, causing Dipper to sigh contentedly because it’s finally sinking in. But then his classmate’s hand is sliding down his back and he forgets what he’s trying to do. The hour he’s stuck inside the room for goes by horrendously slowly and he can barely concentrate on anything but the boy beside him but he thinks he’s managing to keep up with the class. It’d be humiliating for him otherwise. Whether he listens during the lessons or not doesn’t really matter, he somehow convinces himself, because as long as he works outside of school he probably won’t fall behind.

By the time his class is dismissed and students are filing out into the corridor he’s sure he’s forgotten how to breathe. He snaps his book shut - almost trapping his classmate’s fingers inside it - and throws it into his bag. In his haste to get away, he doesn’t even realise he has no idea what class he has next or where it is, so he supposes it could be considered good luck when Bill corners him in the hallway and slings his arm around his shoulders, announcing that he’ll take him to his next lesson since they have the exact same timetable.

And even though it might be considered good luck by some people to be escorted to each and every lesson by a demon in human form, Dipper groans and shrugs him off, ducking out of the way of his arm as it attempts to trap him again. He ends up being crushed to the demon’s side anyway and by this point, Dipper is sure that it is in fact the demon he’d thought was dead.

“I know you missed me, kid,” Bill practically sings in his ear as he staggers down the hallway, Dipper in tow. They have English Literature next, which is in another building altogether, but they never get there because someone slams into them on their way, knocking them both into the wall beside them. Dipper’s heart is racing again and he holds still for a moment, expecting Bill to stand up and defend at least himself, if not the both of them. That never happens.

He slides down the wall, sinking to the floor and curling up with his head in his hands, cowering in fear. Defending himself and Mabel against monsters and magical beings isn’t a problem. It’s people he can’t stand.

He catches a glimpse of the demon out the corner of his eye and panics even more. In his human body, he seems unable to defend himself and unbelievably vulnerable compared to the way in which Dipper has seen him previously. He’s slumped over on the floor, groaning and rubbing the back of his head with his hand, his facial expression more suggestive of confusion than fear. He isn’t scared like Dipper; he’s just clueless as to what’s going on. Catching Dipper looking at him, he groans again and asks what’s happening to him.

Before Dipper has the chance to answer, a shadow is cast over the two of them, attracting there attention. Until now Dipper has thought that Bill’s choice of clothing is the strangest, most out-of-place thing he’s seen, and yet now a figure dressed in hooded black robes wearing a red and white mask is standing over him. He (or she, though the figure has a more masculine build) bends over and grabs hold of Dipper’s shirt and Dipper is sure he can smell his fear. Luckily, Bill makes a half-hearted attempt to scare the figure away, staggering to his feet shoving him in the chest, sending him flying in the opposite direction. The masked-figure’s back slams into the wall behind him, and then he scrambles to his feet and darts around the corner, finally leaving them in peace.

For the first time in his life, Dipper is actually glad to have the demon around. He takes Bill’s hand in his and allows the demon to pull him up into a standing position. This time when he drapes his arm over his shoulder and crushes him to his side, Dipper doesn’t mind so much and he lets him guide him down the corridor and out into the courtyard. But when they head towards the building in which they’re due for their next lesson, Literature, their paths are blocked by a flock of other students, a couple of which are dressed in the same masks and black robes. Mabel is among the crowd but she turns away before she realises her brother is there too and runs off down the hall, crying out for a teacher.  
Releasing his grip on Dipper, Bill pushes his way through the crowd and stops when he sees what’s lying there in the middle of it all. It’s actually more like “who’s lying there in the middle of it all.” One of the hooded figures is lying on the wooden floor with a gash on their throat and a dangerous amount of blood flowing from the wound. Without a word, the demon pushes back out through the gaggle of students, grabs Dipper by the wrist and runs off, dragging the brunet along with him. They never get to their next class and pretty soon, an emergency assembly is called and they’re all sent home early. By this point, Bill has seemingly vanished into thin air.

 

Mabel’s just as excitable as usual when they get home, even though she may have witnessed the aftermath of a murder. On the other hand, Dipper is even quieter. He doesn’t mention Bill. He doesn’t mention the student who died. All he says is that his Algebra teacher seems nice enough. When he goes to bed (early) he takes out his Algebra textbook and reads over what they studied in class that morning and although he concentrates better now than he did before, he’s still half-expecting Bill Cipher to reappear out of nowhere.

He didn’t.

 

His eyes open to darkness and for a moment he thinks he’s still asleep, or maybe he’s awoken in the dead of night and the lights are out. No, that isn’t it. He feels as though he’s forgotten how to breathe again but then he feels something pressing hard against him, from above as well as beneath. It feels like dirt. His hands are on his chest and he starts to claw at the dirt above him but he quickly runs out of energy and his body stills and his eyes close automatically, as if he has no control over his body anymore. He can’t breathe properly and every sharp, shallow breath he does manage to take sucks on the dirt above him, filling his lungs up with the earthy components of his prison.

He forces his eyes open. It’s only been a few seconds but it feels like an eternity. He can see the dirt above him moving, as if something’s pushing it out of the way. Light. He catches a glimpse of light and suddenly he can breathe again. A hand reaches out. A wrist with a golden bracelet coiled around it. He blinks and the dirt around him is gone. He’s lying on his bed again but instead of his pillow, his head is resting on something else. He looks up and sees the familiar face of his blond classmate.

“Thank me,” the demon breathes, his voice sounding like the verbal equivalent of a sigh of relief. He says it in the same way someone would say “thank God” and it takes Dipper a moment to realise what he means. “I thought I would be digging up your bones,” he murmurs, his hand moving to rest under the back of the brunet’s head. His other hand is clutching Dipper’s shirt, his fingers soft against his chest.

“Bill…” Dipper hums as he nuzzles his head harder against the blond’s chest and hand before he realises what he’s doing and suddenly tenses up. “It is you, isn’t it?”

The demon nods but his face doesn’t carry the same wild, psychotic expression it usually does, instead replaced with one of despondency. “I couldn’t let you die, Pine Tree.”

Dipper gives him a small, grateful smile and - still unsure of whether what he’s experiencing is real or not - he closes his eyes and the world fades into darkness.


End file.
